


And the Rain Poured Down

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-26
Updated: 2008-02-26
Packaged: 2018-10-26 09:52:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10784445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: They said goodbye almost 20 years ago.  When fate steps in, will the rain fall again?





	And the Rain Poured Down

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** This is a sequel to _When the Rain Stops_.  You don’t absolutely have to read that to enjoy this one, but it would probably make a little more sense.  Many thanks to tjwritter for the beta assistance.  She was a pleasure to work with.  Any remaining mistakes are most certainly mine.  Feedback is always appreciated.  Enjoy!

Leaning his head on the desk, he carefully studied the amber liquid in the glass, running his finger slowly along the rim. It would be so easy. Easy to lose himself in the numbness the Firewhisky brought. Easy to fall apart. Easy to forget it ever mattered in the first place. 

A soft knock on the door brought him back from the fog. He pulled away from the desk and leaned back in the chair, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes as his voice croaked from lack of use. "Yeah?"

The door swung open slowly and his son tentatively peaked around the corner. "Dad?"

Ron inwardly shook himself. He _couldn’t fall apart_ , not now anyway, he needed to be strong for the children. He smiled warmly at Hugo, "Hey." 

Hugo tried to smile back. Both he and Rose were putting on brave faces, a testament to their mother’s influence. "Aunt Ginny and Uncle Harry are here," he said softly, looking at the floor. "They wanted me to tell you."

"Thanks," he said firmly. "You should finish getting ready, yeah?" He stood up and shuffled some papers around on the desk. "Could you have Uncle Harry come back here on your way upstairs?"

Hugo shrugged and turned to leave but stopped when Ron spoke again. "And Hugo," he said, looking sadly at his son, "help Rosie if you can. We all need to be strong today." He nodded and left the room.

Absently, Ron stared down at the papers in his hand. On top was the note she’d left him the other morning. 

_R – I’ll be in Stockholm today but should be home in time for a late supper. -H_

He didn’t remember her getting out of their bed that morning. He didn’t remember her showering or dressing or kissing him goodbye. He slept through it all as usual. He fell back into the chair, guilt and regret welling up in his eyes. He tried to be strong, he really did. When Harry opened the door though, he didn’t even look up, he just sat there with his palms over his eyes and cried.

Harry didn’t speak when he entered the room. He paused briefly at the door, then strode quietly over to the desk. He knelt down in front of the chair and leaned in, wrapping his arms tightly around Ron. "It’s okay mate, it’ll all be okay."

Ron continued crying for several minutes, Harry holding him for the duration. As his sobs subsided, Harry lessened his grip and slowly slid back to look Ron in the eyes. There was something there, something beyond grief that Harry saw. Ron’s eyes were angry red with tears and dark circles. Ron gritted his teeth and grabbed the whiskey glass. He gulped it down in a blink and slammed the glass on her desk. 

Ron pushed Harry away and stood up. "No it won’t Harry, it’ll never be okay. I’ll never get over the guilt."

Harry shook his head, confused. "Ron, this was not your fault, I don’t know how you could ever. . ."

"Don’t you see Harry? I don’t feel guilty because she’s gone, I feel guilty that I don’t _care_ that she’s gone." 

Ron shoved Harry aside and strode toward the door. He leaned his head against the doorframe and sighed, "I’ve got to go get dressed. My children need me to stand with them today while they bury their mother."

***

It was the sickest of feelings. Ron had never felt so ashamed in his life. Here he was, standing with Rose and Hugo as they cried over Hermione’s casket and all he could think about was that perfume in the air. It was bold, harsh and all too familiar. As soon as it had struck him, he looked around. She was there; he knew it. Aside from the scent, he could feel her. He didn’t see her but that didn’t surprise him. She _was_ there; hovering in the background probably with a glamour charm protecting her. She certainly couldn’t be _seen_ at Hermione’s funeral. _The Daily Prophet_ would have a field day with that one, not because of anything they knew about her and Ron, but simply because she had attended a Muggle-born’s funeral. She _was_ there to see him. She watched him carefully. She saw how he hugged his children and his siblings. She saw Harry, hovering behind him with a look of discontent. She didn’t see him shed a tear though.

Molly insisted they come back to the Burrow after the funeral. "The children need family right now, Ron." He talked with Rose and Hugo, who were mostly apathetic and, truth be told, still in a bit of shock. He agreed to let the children go with his parents but refused to join them.

"I need some time alone, Mum," he told her softly. Molly reluctantly let him go but pulled Harry aside and made him promise to check on Ron later that evening.

***

When Harry appeared at the cottage just before midnight, Ron was sitting on the sofa staring into the fire. An empty bottle of Firewhisky sat on the table. Ron heard the crack of Harry’s Apparition but didn’t turn around when he spoke. "Heya mate."

Harry wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. Make sure Ron didn’t hurt himself? This kind of thing was certainly not Harry’s forte. He strode cautiously toward the back of the couch. "Hey yourself."

Ron patted the sofa next to him. "Have a seat, Harry." Harry moved around the end of the sofa and perched himself on the edge of the seat cushion next to Ron. "I’d offer you a drink, mate," he said with only a slight slur, "but I’m pretty sure I’ve drunk everything in the house."

"No worries," Harry said softly. "Listen, Ron," he started.

"Don’t, Harry. Don’t tell me it’s going to be okay, don’t tell me that I’ll be fine, that the kids will be fine, that these things happen. I know all that shite, okay? If you want to sit here and hang out with me that’s brilliant, but if I want all that upbeat positive rubbish, I’ll go see my Mum."

Harry decided to try a different approach. "Ginny’s worried about you, mate."

Harry could see Ron roll his eyes in disgust. "Yeah? That’s a shock."

Harry treaded lightly but felt as though he needed to acknowledge the hippogriff in the room. "Listen, about what you said earlier today. . ."

Ron leaned back on the sofa, nonchalant as could be. "Yeah? What did I say?"

"About you, you know, not _caring_ that she’s gone."

"What about it?"

Harry looked down and picked at his well-bitten fingernails. "I know you didn’t mean that."

Ron shot forward on the sofa and looked at Harry. "What makes you think I didn’t mean it?"

"C’mon Ron, you’re upset, we all say things we don’t mean when we’re upset. You couldn’t possibly. . ."

Ron rounded on him viciously, "Yeah? Why’s that? Because she was my _wife_? Because I _loved_ her?" He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "You don’t know what it was like, Harry," he sighed. "It’s almost a relief, to be honest."

Harry didn’t know what to say. Ron wasn’t making any sense. No one, even Harry, ever saw anything but the perfect little couple with the perfect little life between Ron and Hermione. "But Ron, what happened to you and her? When did it fall apart?"

Ron grimaced and covered his eyes with the palm of his hand, "That’s the rub there, Harry, I don’t think it was ever _together_."

Harry found himself listening to a diatribe about Hermione. The pretenses, the manipulation, the façade they carried on every day. It unnerved him that Ron could speak about this with such lucidity and without malice. He pondered how he would spend the evening after burying Ginny and realized how surreal this scene actually was.

Still not understanding the breadth of the situation, Harry took his leave of Ron. Confident Ron was not going to do anything rash, he went home to Ginny, thankful that his marriage was not as mucked up as his best friends’ obviously had been.

***

Later that night, Ron again found himself staring absently at the fire. He had managed to find another stash of liquor and now had a glass of Muggle whiskey in one hand and a roll of parchment in the other. He finally put the whiskey down and picked up a quill. Sighing contentedly, he carefully wrote his message on the parchment and folded it. Before he could change his mind, he walked to the kitchen window and tied it to the owl’s leg, letting the majestic snowy take off into the night.

***

There was an annoying buzzing in her ear that she couldn’t place. Slapping her hand around hoping to kill whatever it was that was bothering her, she heard the house elves’ voice. 

"Miss. . .” Karis whispered, “Miss . . . you have an owl post."

Pansy shot up in bed. "What in Slytherin’s name? This better be good."

"Beggin’ your pardon Miss, but this only just arrived. Must be important if it’s sent in the middle of the night?" Karis finally shut up long enough to take a breath and have Pansy stare at her with a look of disdain. 

Pansy waved her out, taking the parchment as she did, "Very well, off with you."

Karis bowed and lit the wall sconce on her way out. Pansy stretched and yawned a little before glancing at the parchment. It was addressed only to _PP._

_P –_

_I know you were there today._

_I don’t care why you were there, I’m just glad you were._

_I need you. My Floo will be open for an hour after the owl returns home._

_-R_

After all these years. Now he said he needed her. Why couldn’t he have said he needed her back then? Why did he have to be miserable all this time? Why didn’t he listen to her? Why couldn’t she say no? The only answer she found was that, Merlin help her, even after all these years, she loved Ron Weasley. Resigning herself to that fact, she climbed out of bed and called for Karis. "Bring me my green robes."

***

Ron started pacing as soon as the snowy owl landed on the windowsill. He was very grateful that his mother had insisted the children stay with her. What in Merlin’s name was he doing writing to her? Regardless of the fact that he knew she wouldn’t come, he felt lower than a Death Eater right then. Pansy Parkinson was certainly not the type of woman to come simply because she was beckoned. She was the type of woman who had men at her beck and call. She dictated her life. She would not stand for even a hint of this antiquated notion of male dominance. He was certain that the only response he would get would be an owl with a howler giving him her opinion of his tasteless act.

Regardless of his confidence she wasn’t coming, he kept pacing. The snowy had returned some time ago, three quarters of an hour by his approximation. He laughed to himself thinking how ridiculous this whole scenario was. He was mortified with himself. Finally, exhausted both mentally and physically, he fell on the sofa and let himself cry. Despite his harsh words to Harry, he was a little saddened, especially for his children. For all of her fault in their relationship, Hermione was a good mother and role model. He hoped that his children had taken some of her influence to heart. 

He also cried for the loneliness he felt. The loneliness he had felt for so many years. As much as he tried to make his relationship with Hermione work, he knew it was all a lie. She all but told him so after the wedding – that she was using him to gain power with the Ministry. He decided soon thereafter that he wasn’t going to fight it. He played along for the sake of appearances. Hermione was the ultimate actress. As evidenced by Harry’s reaction, no one would ever believe his side of the story anyway.

His Gryffindor courage had failed him so many years ago and he continued to pay the price. 

***

He had just begun to drift off when he heard the rustling _whoosh_ of the Floo. He was certain he was dreaming until she strode confidently to him, leaning down and taking his face in her palms. There were tears in her eyes as she whispered to him, "Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you?"

Ron shook the sleep from his eyes. It took him a minute to confirm she wasn’t a dream or a hallucination. He didn’t speak; he just took her face in his hands and kissed her with everything he had. Holding on to her as if she’d disappear without his touch, he fumbled slightly and pulled at her robes. The green velvet fell open, revealing herself to him. His fingers found her breasts, pinching her nipples into stiff points. She moaned into his kiss and felt him lean into her further. He reached up and roughly pushed her robes off her shoulders. Pulling away from her, he spoke curtly, "Turn around." 

Without apprehension, she did as she was told. She stood there, naked, her breathing labored as she felt more than heard him stand up from the sofa. The only sound in the room was the clink of his belt as he slid it from its loops and lowered his trousers. With one hand he grabbed her by the waist, roughly pulling her back toward him. She could feel him, warm and heavy against the small of her back. He bit down softly on her shoulder as he forced her legs apart with his knee. She was ready. She was _always_ ready for him, he thought to himself. This powerful, confident, intimidating woman really was his for the taking.

Running his fingers down her spine, still afraid to let go of her completely, he sat down on the sofa and stretched his legs out. Without words, he guided her into his lap, straddling him, facing the fire. She knew what he wanted, she always knew. Slowly she slid down, letting almost twenty years of frustration go in the process. He felt her tense around him, stretching little by little until he filled her completely. He ran his hands reverently down her sides, over her hips, onto her thighs then slowly back up to her breasts.

"So beautiful," he whispered.

She braced her hands on his knees and leaned forward, just slightly. She felt his hands fall again to her hips and hold her there, only for a second, before pulling her back toward him. The delicious friction hit both of them, eliciting moans and sighs that filled the room. They repeated the motion over and over, as if she were trying to run away and he kept pulling her back to him, but with a reward for her return. The irony was lost to the physical bliss, which overtook them. 

He felt the twinge, the one that always told him she was close. He heard the gasps too, the sharp little intakes of breath she took to hold out just a moment longer and make it just that much better. He pulled her back hard, slamming her into his body. She threw her arms wide as she felt her balance shift but fell back to his chest with his arms wrapped tightly around her. His hand slipped down to the point where their bodies were joined so intimately, tugging and teasing and reminding her of why she was there. Finally she exploded around him and sagged against him completely.

He laid his chin on her shoulder, closing his eyes as he waited patiently for her senses to return. When her breathing evened out, he shifted beneath her. She moaned and moved her hips lazily over him. The depth of her around him, her warmth, the silken feel of her orgasm surrounding him was all he could take. He stilled her over him, gritting his teeth as he fell prey to her ministrations. 

Spent, she slumped forward on his lap as he fell back against the sofa, his breath coming in long sated sighs. They sat there for some time, neither one having the energy or desire to move. Eventually they separated and he laid down on the sofa, scooting back as far as he could and indicating to her to join him. She looked at him carefully, answering the question he could never have asked before, "Yes, I’ll stay." She laid down next to him and he spooned behind her, wrapping his arm tightly to her chest with an unspoken promise that they would never be apart again.


End file.
